SNOW HAPPY

Note to Mom: I offer this video as evidence that I do not know how to ski fast enough to even stub my toe, so you can stop worrying that I'm going to hurt myself.

Brandon gifted me this little video to share, shot on the GoPro set-up with gimbal he picked up in Denver so he could catch footage of us messing around in the mountains.

We started with a hike to Maxwell Falls outside of Evergreen, a recommendation from a Lodo shopgirl. We explored the trails there for about four hours on our way to meet Brandon's friends Trip and Erin in Breckenridge for a few days of skiing.

Erin had never skied, and I hadn't for over 20 years, so we decided lessons would be a good idea. Our instructor was a skinny old guy named Ronnie, with a face like sandpaper and a matching attitude. The moment we met him in the ski shop, he produced a vial of gold flakes from his pocket and announced that we was a prospector.

Ronnie got our little group out to the bunny slopes and lined us up like little slipping and sliding ducks. His instruction on skiing boiled down to, "Now start skiing!" He at least didn't add "goddammit" at the end, which I felt showed restraint. By lunch he'd made a 15-year-old girl cry, then sent her off for private lessons. "She was never gonna listen to me."

Whatever his methods, Erin and I were both smoothly making our way down a nice easy green run before too long.

In full disclosure, I did wipe out the first time I got off the ski lift. On my way up the second time, I laughed, saying Well, it can't get worse, I already fell.

Wrong.

The second time, I wiped out and took a lift attendant with me. He was trying to help when he saw things going south, but we just ended up in a tangle of skis and poles. Lord, it's irritating to be trying to do something, and fail spectacularly and publicly. I focused harder on not repeating that scenario, and delifted successfully after that.

Besides tough ski love, Ronnie also recommended we have a margarita—"Just one. Because you can't handle two."— at a biker bar named Angel's Hollow.

Those two margaritas did wonders to ease the little aches and pains of the day.